Neurosis
by middleagefanboy
Summary: Reginald Barclay deals with yet another phobia in the only way he knows.


"Sit down, Reg. Make yourself comfortable", said Troi, in a flat and pleasant tone.

Reginald Barclay sat on the gray reclined couch in Troi's office. He flashed his nervous smile at her. He was always so nervous; which he joked to himself was his default condition. "Thanks, Counselor."

"Call me Deanna, Reg. We're better friends than that, right?"

"Oh, um... y-yes, of course, Deanna," he stammered. Despite the casual first name basis between them, he was not at ease.

She smiled, then began, "Why are you here, Reg? What is our goal?"

"W-well", he started, "i-it all s-started at Starbase 29 when we took aboard that new Gorn crewmember, Lt. Synx."

"Yes, go on."

"Th-that's it, Deanna. I try to think that I, l-like all of my fellow human-er, and um, _Federation_ member crewmates, am an evolved being. I mean, we're HERE to explore and contact new life, r-right?"

"Of course, Reg," said Troi in agreement, "we _all_ memorized Zefram Cochrane's speech in primary school."

Reg smiled briefly; he'd had the chance to meet his idol only a few months before during the Enterprise E's accidental foray back in time to the 21st century. While the mission was a success (more or less), he just wished he'd not made such a fool of himself by insisting on a handshake, "Y-yes. That was something, wasn't it?"

"Hmmm", Deanna muttered with a smirk; she most strongly remembered the 'tequila' and Dr. Cochrane's awkward, drunken passes at her.

"Well anyway," said Barclay, pressing on, "I would never have p-pegged myself as a bigot by ANY means, Deanna. B-but when Synx came aboard? I don't know. Commander LaFor-er, Geordi, made me part of the welcoming team. And when I shook his c-cold, scaly hand, I just- I got a shiver up my spine. It was completely involuntary, Deanna. I mean, I physically couldn't HELP it!"

Troi leaned forward and addressed him reassuringly, "Reg. It's perfectly normal to occasionally suppress a shudder when you meet someone new. And no offense, but you do tend to have a nervous disposition, Reg..."

Reg smiled, "Yes," he chuckled, "my 'default mode' ."

"Exactly", said Troi.

"B-but that wasn't all, Deanna. S-since he's come aboard, Geordi's had me work with him a **_lot_**. I mean, just in the last few weeks I've worked almost all of my shifts with him. Geordi and I even helped him design an thermic undergarment to wear under his uniform, since he's exothermic, y'know..."

"Hardly the actions of a 'bigot', Reg", Troi pointed out, "You helped him. You showed him courtesy. You were outwardly friendly to him. Does it really matter what you were feeling inside at the time? Sometimes we have to put on a mask in public. You know that as well as I do..."

"Y-yes, but it's more than that even. I... am... this is so hard to say..."

"Go on," Troi insisted, "just say it, Reg."

Reg blurted, "**_I hate to be around him, OK?_** H-he makes me _sick_. I can _hear_ his raspy breathing. I can _smell_ his skin, and it reminds me of a swamp or something. I-I know he's a rational, sentient being, as we all are. B-but when I see him? I just see a reptile... and, and I am kind of... afraid of... um, reptiles. Same as _spiders_, you know?"

"But you've _overcome_ that one, Reg," Troi said, trying to bolster him, "Chief O'Brien's pet. And remember; you were almost turned into one," she offered needlessly; both vividly remembed the retroviral devolution incident a couple of years before; when the entire crew (including herself) reverted to primal states, ranging from insects and amphibians to cave dwellers.

"Oh, Deanna. _Don't remind me!_ You and I had _double sessions_ in the weeks after that," Barclay said, shaking his head in dreaded memory. All because of Crusher failing to recognize a defect in his genes that caused her ministrations to turn his cold into a wild, devolution virus. And Crusher is _still_ allowed to practice medicine on this ship, he winced to himself. "But the thing is," he continued, "even th-though I've gotten _better_ with arachnids, I-um, still haven't mastered m-my revulsion to um..."

"_Reptiles_", she finished for him.

"Yes," he squirmed inwardly, "yes, reptiles... like, like poor Lt. Synx."

"So you're rational enough to recognize that it's not YOUR fault, Reg. You recognize that your fear of Lt. Synx is inherently irrational and can be dealt with..."

"Y-yes, of course, Deanna. But then there are the _nightmares_..."

"Nightmares," asked Deanna with a raised eyebrow, "Tell me about them..."

"I-I have these _horrible_ dreams w-where Synx and I are in a turbolift together, a-and I hear his raspy, hissing, breathing... and I am w-wearing my _phaser_... and I-"

"Reg," Troi interrupted, "sometimes violent intentions in our dreams is alright. It's an arena for our subconsciousness to play out scenarios that we can't or wouldn't in the real world. It's _perfectly_ healthy, Reg."

"Y-yes, OK. B-but you know me, right? I had to ex-explore my dreams...**_ on the holodeck."_**

Troi sank in her chair a bit, remembering Barclay's onetime holodeck addiction.

"The _holodeck_," she echoed; looking squarely into his face.

"Y-yes, a-and I would call up an image of Lt. Synx-"

"Reg", she interjected, "You KNOW it is deeply unethical to pull up images of your fellow crewmembers..."

"I- I know", Barclay said, eyes closed and features wincing, "I know. B-but I _had_ to. I had to play it out..."

"Alright then," Troi said, "although I don't approve of such therapy, go ahead. This is _not_ judgment, Reg..."

Barclay flashed his nervous, and slightly pathetic smile, "Thanks, Deanna. B-but anyway, in the holodeck, I created my dream scenario. And so help me for helping to make those damn holodecks so lifelike, but I could smell his reptile skin as we stood in the holodeck together. And his broad, toothy, almost crocodile-like fixed grin. His emotionless, _crystalline _eyes. Like balls of quartz or something. They barely blink. He loo-looks almost dead inside! And-and his f-f-face! His frozen, moist, _scaly_ FACE. I-I know it's _irrational_, Deanna. But I couldn't HELP it. His breathing... his **_raspy, crackly breathing_**. And-and did I mention the SMELL of his breath?! I-it's absolutely horrible, Deanna!"

"Reg? Please... try to relax. You're getting worked up."

"I-I'm sorry, Deanna."

"It's alright. Go on..."

"Right. Well, there we were, in the holodeck. And I-I tried to make con-conversation with it-er, him, you know? S-so I asked him how his thermic undersuit was? And-and there was a delay in the translation, you know the UT has issues with the Gorn language for some reason-but anyway, I asked him", Reg blurted, in a verbal volley, "A-and then he tells me that it's **_jusssst_** fine. The hissing 's's, you know? Oh god, even when the UT translates Gorn into standard, it still sounds... Gorn, you know? The**_hissing_**... it just gets under my skin!"

"I can see that," said Troi, trying to sympathize.

"So, he um... he tries to express gratitude for the suit, you know? Gratitude! I mean, he was b-being POLITE to me, a-and I um..."

Deanna leaned forward, "Go on."

"... That's when I felt his cold hand and um... I lost it. I lost control, Deanna! I took out my phaser-"

"No!"

"- I took out my phaser and-and-and... I um, **_fired_**."

"Oh my goodness, Reg," Troi said. Mouth agape.

"Yes, I-um, I...** I killed him, Deanna.** For no good reason. I j-just **KILLED** him!"

Troi settled back into her seat, trying to calm herself, "Reg. I'm not judging you, but I'm concerned. Re-enacting murder scenarios, however impulsive or therapeutic, is just unheard of these days..."

Reg looked down at his fidgeting, sweating hands, "I-I know. Believe me, I-I'm _not_ proud."

"I understand, Reg. A couple years ago, Data had a similar issue when his brother Lore allowed him to feel nothing but anger..."

"I remember, Deanna."

"Yes, and I later helped him deal with those feelings as well."

Barclay looked up into her concerned face, as his lower lip tremored involuntarily, "Y-yes, of course you did. B-but he didn't _want_ to kill. He was acting in self-defense. I-I am just having dreams and holodeck recreations about KILLING a f-fellow crewmember just because he's d-different than I am. And h-he was being _polite_ to me!"

"Reg", said Deanna firmly, "we need to deal with this. I think perhaps it would be healthy to read up on the Gorn. Understand them. Their art, their culture... I think once you explore the object of your irrational fears, you will shed some light on the darkness. Who knows? In a few weeks, you two might even share a drink together in Ten-Forward" she added, almost cheerfully.

Barclay gulped, "D-drink. With it-er, _him_. Him. Him, not it," he _winced_, catching himself, "I don't know, Deanna. That's a big step."

"Not now, of course," she said, shaking her head, "but after you learn about his race a bit more, you might overcome your irrational fears..."

"I- I just remember reading the story of Capt. Kirk fighting the Gorn captain on Cestus III when I was in grade school. I remember how he described the Gorn captain in his logs, and his _own_ irrational fear of reptiles..."

"Yes," interrupted Deanna, "but he also _spared_ the Gorn's life when it came time to deliver the killing blow."

_"But I didn't"_, murmured a dejected Barclay. "I **_killed_** a fellow crewmember who was **_thanking_** me. Being POLITE to me. Am I r-really so 'enlightened', Deanna?"

"_Learn_ about them, Reg", she said through a slight smile, "then you can tell me the answer to that in our next session, OK? But in the meantime, I'm going to recommend you see Crusher to get something to help you sleep..."

Barclay laughed nervously, trying to break the tension, "As long as she doesn't turn me into a tarantula this time."

Troi grinned at the snide joke, "Don't worry, Reg. I know that's a tall order with you when it comes to medical matters, but DON'T WORRY. And I'm also going to recommend to Geordi that he take you off of Lt. Synx's shifts for the time being. Until you have a chance to read up on the Gorn. Get to understand them a bit more..."

"Thank you Deanna", he offered his nervous hand.

"You're always welcome here, Reg," she said, "Welcome-_welcome-welcome-welcome-_"

Reginald Barclay put his face in his palms, "Oh damn! Another glitch? I- I just **recalibrated** the interactive linguistics of this holodeck."

The image of Troi stood, facing in the direction Barclay no longer occupied as he walked to the exit, continuing to sputter, "Welcome-welcome-welcome-"

Barclay addressed the bare wall, "Computer? Arch..."

The blank wall dissolved into the interactive control arch of the holodeck, "Computer, end program for now, but save program for later diagnostic. Exi-no, wait. Computer?**_Delete_** program." The mirage of Troi's office melted into the black and yellow grid-lined walls of holodeck 3. The doors to holodeck three opened into the corridor of deck eight. Barclay stepped into the corridor, straightened his slightly uneven uniform sleeves. Walked a few paces, then touched his combadge, "Computer? Location Commander Deanna Troi?"

The maternal voice of the ship's computer replied, "Commander Deanna Troi is on the bridge."

Barclay exhaled, then continued, "Computer... schedule an appointment for me with Counselor Troi as soon as possible, please."

"Working", said the voice of the computer over his combadge's private channel, "Confirmed. You now have an appointment with Counselor Troi, tomorrow afternoon at 14:30 hours."

"Thank you", said Barclay, unnecessarily (he was talking to a machine, after all). He walked towards the nearest turbolift. He had to hurry, as his shift began in fifteen minutes.

The lift door split open before him. He looked up from his feet...

... and stared directly into the unreadable crystalline eyes of Lt. Synx.

His hand reflexively reached for his hip to the empty space where a type I phaser might be holstered...

******** THE END ********


End file.
